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The question here isn’t if McConaughey is having fun, but whether audiences will find his laid-back, ever-lit persona nearly as entertaining to watch — especially when Korine celebrates so many of the vices that tend to rile more conservative moviegoers, pitching the parade of decadence at a level that even less judgmental audiences may find it exhausting. Simultaneously shaggy and hyper-stylized, “The Beach Bum” plays like a less-coked-out “Scarface,” the collected works of Charles Bukowski, and a Cheech & Chong movie all rolled up in one.
The proud cinematic subgenre known as the "stoner comedy" gets a flashy new entry with The Beach Bum, in which McConaughey plays a washed-up Florida poet who’s like an amalgam of Hunter Thompson, The Dude from The Big Lebowski, Spicoli from Fast Times at Ridgemont High, McConaughey’s Wooderson from Dazed and Confused and McConaughey himself (or at least the version of him that lived in a Malibu trailer and was once arrested while playing bongos naked). As pungent, and ephemeral, as the weed smoke that wafts through its garishly gorgeous candy-colored frames, the latest — and lightest — offering from indie enfant terrible Harmony Korine won’t be for everyone. I, admittedly, had a hard time getting on its woozy wavelength. But The Beach Bum is a work of undeniable commitment and craft — a gonzo picaresque, soaked with booze and filled with gyrating, jiggling flesh, that will play well to the not-negligible segment of the population where cannabis lovers and cinephiles overlap.
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